Always Learning
by Watermelancholy
Summary: No matter how long it's been, Rose is always learning something new. *DRABBLE. Rose, Mashiro. No pairing.*


The scent was strong. It wafted in through the open door and filled every corner of Rose's room, even managing to stir him from his sleep as it overrode his congestion. It smelled like food... delicious food. Though the only ones who cooked delicious food were Kensei and Hiyori, and judging from the lack of crashes and swearing, it couldn't be Kensei. It must've been Hiyori. Sleepily cracking an eye open, Rose looked to the clock beside the bed. No, it was barely past noon, meaning Hiyori probably wasn't back from her search around town for the perfect pair of new sandals since hers were getting worn (you had to get the weight _just right_ if you really wanted their hits to be effective, she claimed.) Nobody else could cook like this... come to think of it, almost everyone else said they would be gone most of the day as well. Rose furrowed his brow, remembering bits of conversation he'd picked up on while cursing the sunlight and trying to fall back asleep. Someone had stayed back against his protests and assurances that he merely had a cold...

...And she was apparently cooking something. An unsettling weight started to build in Rose's stomach, knowing fully what happened when nobody was around Mashiro. Not to say the woman had restrictions, she was more than welcome to do as she pleased, but the memories of the last time Mashiro decided to cook and used every ingredient she could find were not easily erased. Nobody really ever trusted Mashiro to prepare meals from scratch after that. His fever had to be tricking his senses, this couldn't lead to anything good. "Mash–..." Rose tried to ask the young woman what she was up to, choking on the name with a wet cough. Slipping out of the safety of his bed, he took a deep breath and prepared himself to step outside and face whatever might explode, attack him, or need intense cleaning.

The makeshift kitchen that had been set up was located in a darker part of the abandoned building, the only source of light being the lamps set up around the area that gave everything a dull-yellow hue. As Rose rounded the corner and shielded his eyes from the light, he peered across the room to where Mashiro was currently hovering over the stove, humming quietly. "Mashiro?"

"Oh!" Rose's eyes widened in shock as Mashiro jumped and whirled around, obviously just as surprised. She instantly slammed a lid on the pot behind her, concealing whatever was in it. "What are you doing out of bed?"

"I'm sorry I startled you," he smiled slightly now that his heart had stopped racing. "I just wondered what you were doing."

"Why?" she asked almost worriedly. He blinked.

"...Are you cooking something, Mashiro?" The slow words relayed his cautioun, the feeling not fading as her worried eyes widened a bit and she quickly shook her head. He nodded at the pot. "What's that?"

"Um... that's... I was just cleaning!" she stumbled, smiling crookedly as she took the small pot off the stove. "Really!" Rose shook his head.

"I _might've_ believed you if you'd left out the 'really'," he told her, walking closer and watching as she held the lid down firmly. "Seriously, what is it?"

"It's nothing!" she cried, stopping herself before she added 'really!'

"I can smell it."

"You have a fever, Rose, you must be delusional!"

"Mashiro."

"..." Mashiro sighed softly at the warning tone, eyeing the pot and then Rose as she chewed on her bottom lip. She suddenly stomped one foot down, pouting playfully. "Rose isn't supposed to be up yet! Now you've gone and spoiled the surprise!"

"Surprise?" he repeated. He didn't like the sound of that, and he _really_ didn't like the glint of bursting pride in her eyes. "Did you make me something?"

"Soup," she concluded accurately, holding the silver container out at arm's length. Uncertainly wavering for a moment, Rose took hold of the black knob and eased the lid into the air, willing himself not to flinch as he leaned over to look inside. He froze. The scent began lifting into the area once more, and he idly sniffed it as his eyes scanned over the mixture of liquid that, despite his expectations, was not a gooey green or sticky purple, but a smooth, deep red. "I found out how to make it in a cooking magazine that was in the drawer! Try it!"

"Ah... alright," Rose stalled, finding a spoon being shoved into his hand; he _was_ hungry. The soup did smell good, but Rose wasn't sure he wanted to risk ending up in the bathroom all night... but he couldn't disappoint Mashiro... The liquid was warm but not quite hot as it ran across his tongue, a good sign that it was ready to be eaten, and slowly, carefully, he let it hit the back of his throat... Not even sure when he'd shut his eyes, he let them snap open. "It's really good," he said in surprise, though if Mashiro noticed she didn't show it, happily grinning from ear-to-ear.

"I did _exactly_ what the paper said to do!" she continued with her story, counting along her fingers as she recited the recipe as if it were a poem. Then she looked up at Rose, smile looking a bit tentative. "I just thought that... maybe it would make you feel better."

"..." Rose looked down at the pot she was setting on the counter, blinking indifferently and letting his thoughts mull through his brain. Mashrio was really not a chef by any means, always the one to add her own spin on things, her own show of adventurous spirit. She liked things done her own way, but Rose had gotten sick, and Mashiro tried to make him feel better and even followed rules to do it. He'd come out expecting a tragedy. Smiling slightly, Rose set the spoon on the counter and wrapped an arm around Mashiro, pulling her close for a moment as her hair brushed against his chin. "Thank you, Mashiro," he said, smiling back when they pulled away and she gave a content grin. "I'm feeling a lot better now... I think it helped." She giggled softly.

"I'm glad!"


End file.
